


The Answer

by AndyArchives



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Eventual Character Death, M/M, Mention of past character deaths, Old Married James T. Kirk/Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Spock, Old Spock, spock prime - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:00:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27598583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndyArchives/pseuds/AndyArchives
Summary: Spock is living in Georgia on the old farm he built with his late husbands, James Kirk and Leonard McCoy.One day he gets a message from Geordi Laforge and Data asking if they can come visit him. Spock invites them to stay for a while as Geordi and Data look for the answer to a very important question
Relationships: Data & Geordi La Forge, Data/Geordi La Forge, McKirk, McSpirk, Spirk - Relationship, Spones
Comments: 11
Kudos: 102





	1. Chapter 1

The Android and the Engineer showed up at Spock’s door like they were trying to sell him something. If he hadn’t known about them coming through their message already, he might have informed them they had the wrong house.

“Hello Mr. Spock,” said Geordi, with a great big smile. 

The man’s twinkling, deep set eyes met their bright, expectant faces, and he stepped aside to let them in. “Good afternoon, gentlemen.”

As the Star Fleet officers stepped in, he searched his memory for details he could recall about them. 

“Data, Geordi,” he greeted them. “Welcome. Would you care for a refreshment?”

Data declined, but Geordi asked for a glass of water. 

“So you said you are here for historical research?” Spock asked, to clarify. 

The officers placed their bags and other things aside as they walked through the threshold.

“We are, in a way,” said Geordi. “To be honest, we’ll be keeping logs of our time here, but not much else. We kind of just wanted to...get to know you, I suppose. A man who’s lived a life as rich as yours...we can only imagine the things you’ve seen and done that weren’t ever reported.” 

Spock’s eyes flipped between the men, who stood with their hands ever so subtly touching. They wore the exact same expectant, hopeful looks on their faces. 

They, like many others who visited, wanted stories from him. But unlike the others who had seen him, Spock got the impression that their intentions were selfless. They genuinely seemed to want to be there, in the house.

The Android, Data, had been hard to forget; neither was the swift-thinking enthusiasm Geordi possessed. He reminded him of a young James T. Kirk. 

They walked into the living room, where the two sat across from Spock. Geordi had the good mind to try to cover up his amazement at who sat in front of him. Data, on the other hand, was visually soaking in every detail about his surroundings, Spock included.

“Data, will you please show the Ambassador what we brought?” asked Geordi.

Data visibly perked up and walked   
towards their packed items. He came back with a painting. 

Spock found his breath stalling as he attempted to react to the gift. It was a breathtaking framed painting of a twin sunset on the horizon of a fiery red Vulcan desert. Spock gave himself a moment to take in the painting, lips parted in surprise.

“It’s marvelous,” he said, his eyes getting lost in the way the Android had managed to capture the subtle twinkle of the Vulcan sands. “It’s nice to have such a view of my planet after deciding to remain on the farm Jim and Leonard and I set up...”

Spock looked at them, knowing the topic they were dying to ask him about and weighing wether or not it was wise to broach the topic yet.

“I have read that it is traditional to give art to Vulcans who have recently lost someone they care for,” said Data.

Well. It looked like the topic sure had been broached now

“Data, please,” Geordi coughed. “I’m sorry, sir.“ 

“It’s quite alright. The amount of visits I’ve gotten since what happened has been an unexpected blessing.”

“We wished to pay our respects to your late husbands with a little more...grace. We know Dr. McCoy’s loss is more recent, but we were equally as saddened to learn of James T. Kirk’s passing. Your husbands were incredible men.”

“That they were,” said the Ambassador, with a fond smile. “I’ve found I’ve grown more appreciative of my time with them the more time passes.” With that, Spock leveled Geordi with a knowing look and said “So. What have you two come for today?”

It appeared as if this was the first time it had occurred to either of them that they might get to ask Spock questions. They looked at each other, their gaze unreadable for a moment or two. 

Spock noticed they were likely nervous and decided on his trademark ice breaker.

“Would either of you care for chess?” He asked, gesturing to the three dimensional chess set behind him in the parlor. 

“I would be honored, sir,” Data piped up.

Spock couldn’t help but note how enthusiastic the Android was. Any old machine could perform a task for someone immediately, but there was something in the Android’s expression that was eager. Spock had experience with people who longed to get close to him, but never from a machine. 

Spock wondered if Data’s creator had simply been a fan of his accomplishments in Star Fleet and given the Android an eagerness to please him off the outlandish fantasy that he might one day meet his creation and be impressed. He had to admit: Data’s creator had certainly captured his attention. But the game he was about to play would dictate whether or not Spock would be impressed with said creator’s work.

The game started, while Geordi pulled up a chair and watched intently. Spock offered to play black out of hospitality and let Data make the first move. Data immediately moved his knight.

“That’s right,” Spock said, “you require almost no time to think about your next moves. You’ll have to forgive an old man’s pace: I like to take my time.” 

“It’s quite alright, Sir,” said Data.

Spock considered his next move, then decided to mirror Data’s move and moved his own knight the same way on his side of the board Data had.

Data’s choices were so rapid it felt very akin to playing against the computer in a standard chess simulation. 

Data moved a pawn two squares forward. Spock moved his same pawn two squares forward, another mirror to Data’s move.

Data furrowed his silver brow. Spock’s mouth pursed in a thoughtful manner as he watched Data react to his playing style. 

At last, Data moved his untouched knight. Spock copied him. 

Data moved three more times and Spock mirrored him in every way, sacrificing a few pawns in the process. Finally, Data was full-on frowning from the effort of trying to figure out why Spock had made these moves.

“I have a query, Admiral,” said Data.

“Ask me anything you like,” said Spock. “Both of you may do so.”

“I have noticed you’ve attempted to mirror every move that I have made on the board thus far. Is this intentional?” 

The elderly Vulcan lifted an eyebrow and sat back in his chair. “Do you think it is intentional?”

Data’s brow furrowed even more, to the point where there were visible creases on his forehead. “I do not understand your question, Ambassador.”

“Spock,” he corrected. “Please, both of you, call me Spock. Mr. Spock, if you insist on an honorific.”

“Mr. Spock,” said Data, “are you intentionally playing mysteriously as an attempt to richen our game?”

Spock threw an arm over the edge of his chair and did what could only be interpreted as a shrug. His eyes piercing those of the being in front of him, but not aggressively.

After a little too much time, Spock’s eyes flipped towards Geordi. Geordi was biting down on his lips, a barely contained look of pure excitement radiating off of his body. Spock was grateful he’d stumbled upon people eager for a good mystery. After the death of Dr. McCoy, he’d found baiting and figuring out mysteries was one of the last things he could find joy in.

When they returned to the game, Spock switched strategies and played chess in his normal fashion until Spock forced Data into a corner of the board in which he found himself having to copy Spock’s movements until finally, Spock captured Data’s king and won the game.

“Curious...” said Data, softly. “You began by copying my moves, then after I pointed that out to you, you played in an entirely different style that led to my surrender.”

“What is your conclusion?”

Data paused for a long moment, then said, “you changed your manner of playing as an attempt to up the stakes in our game.”

“And?” Spock asked.

“I do not understand,” said Data.

“What else do you think I was attempting to do during our game, Data? There were two different things I was trying to do during our game.”

Data thought for a long time, then looked towards Geordi. 

“Is it possible you were playing in a manner that would force you to figure out Data’s...personality?” asked Geordi.

Spock gave a genuine, soft smile then, very faint crow’s feet showing at the corners of his eyes. It was rare for an older Vulcan to have wrinkles of that manner, but Spock had them. 

Geordi smiled too, pleased he had figured out the final half to the mystery. 

“I believe I have also discovered something else,” said Spock. “Something about the two of you.”

Geordi immediately looked serious, then. His smile returned to the neutral, focused expression he’d worn during the chess game.

Spock attempted to soften his gaze. “What I have discovered is that the two of you have a connection of the mind. You work best together. Side by side. Am I wrong?”

Geordi blushed, his skin flooding with color around his cheeks. “I—uh, no. No, you aren’t wrong. Data and I are, um...close.”

Spock could tell that Geordi did not want to elaborate. He questioned them no further.

They talked through the evening, mostly discussing the differences between the two versions of the Enterprise that they’d worked on, including the merits and faults of each design.

Once the sun started to set, Spock came to attention and went to the kitchen to check his slow cooker. 

“The two of you seem to be in luck,” said Spock, “I’ve prepared dinner already, at least enough for two. Data: I apologize for my bluntness, but do you eat?”

“No sir,” said Data. “I am capable, but I tend not to.”

“Fascinating,” said Spock. “In that case, dinner is served for two and one half.”

“One half, sir?”

“Though you won’t be eating, I assume you’ll sit with us for the sake of conversation. But if you’d rather not, I understand.” 

“I was going to, if you would allow me.”

“Of course. Do you have dietary restrictions, Geordi?”

“No, si—Mr. Spock,” he said. 

“Good. Make yourself comfortable.” 

The two obeyed, moving slowly into the dining room area of the tall, open country home.

Spock set out two water glasses, after being declined a glass by Data. He filled both of their glasses and asked Geordi if he’d like anything alcoholic to drink. Geordi declined politely.

Spock and Geordi both listened to Data speak while they sat at the table. Spock asked him one question: what he thought about Georgia and the house he’d designed with Leonard and Jim. That question alone prompted Data to talk about the build of the house, it’s modern design that he guessed correctly was modeled after 19th century western architecture, and gave them something to listen to as they ate.

They listened with interest as Data talked until the two of them were done eating and Geordi was thanking Mr. Spock for his hospitality.

“I’m afraid there isn’t much to do past sundown here, and I need to begin my evening meditations.”

“I see,” said Geordi.

“You two are free to stay, as I’ve said. However, I regret to inform you there is only one official guest bedroom. I hope that suits you two.”

“I apologize for the inconvenience, Mr. Spock,” said Data. “While I am an Android and thus not capable of sleeping, I require dedicating a portion of my evenings to shutting down my cognitive functions so I may process information in my subconscious neural net.”

Spock’s eyes widened with interest. “Are you trying to suggest that you dream, Data?”

“I dream most nights.” 

Spock stared at him for a long, pregnant pause. At last, he whispered: “Amazing...Forgive me; I did not mean to make assumptions. I can sleep on the couch—.”

“No!” said Geordi, hastily. "We could never put you out like that. Data and I can make it work."

"Excellent," Spock said, “In that case, if you need anything you may use anything in the house. The fridge is stocked. The master bedroom is down the hall if you need me,” he said, gesturing behind himself. “Enjoy the rest of your evening and...sweet dreams,” he said, with an extra little twinkle in his eye as he looked toward Data.

Spock nodded to both of them, then turned and made his way to his bedroom and changed into his nighttime robes and slippers.

He stepped out onto the front porch outside of the house and took in a deep breath of fresh night air. He could faintly make out the sweet scent of ripe peaches coming from the tree Leonard and Jim had planted with him. 

That peach tree was the first thing they had ever planted on the property. They’d toasted to "breaking in the new place" while sitting under the very porch he stood under that very moment. He found himself walking towards the tree and gazing up at the stars through the leaves. As he watched, the brightest, most delicious looking peach caught his eye. Even though he wasn't hungry, he found himself reaching up and plucking the peach from the tree. 

He stepped a little further out until he could get a good view of the stars. He stared skyward, his gaze settling into that lovely space between all of the stars, where there could be absolutely anything. He took a bite of the peach. He ate the entire peach while looking at the spaces between the stars. Somewhere out there laid the caskets of both Jim and McCoy, drifting peacefully as if they were still exploring the cosmos as dilligently as they had in their youth. He looked down at the peach pit he'd eaten through to and cleaned. He allowed himself a little smile.

"Here's to you, gentlemen.” he murmured, raising the peach pit to the stars like he was toasting to them. He pitched his arm back and hurled the pit skyward and slightly out. There of course was no way the pit would ever make it into space, but Spock couldn't deny the satisfaction of the ritual. Every time he threw a peach pit at the stars he thought about Jim and Leonard. He liked to do this every once in a while, when the urge struck.

Before he meditated, he decided to stop inside and wash his hands. There was no way he would be successful in concentration with sticky peach residue on his hands.

He stepped inside and cleaned his hands. As he was drying his hands, his ear picked up the sound of his own name.

On one hand, intentionally listening to his guests’ conversation was rude. On the other hand, it was likely that no matter what he concluded, he was likely going to talk himself into a conclusion that his choice, whatever it had been, was the logical one. 

He stepped into the threshold of the hallway where his guests were sequestered on the other side of the wall. He decided to stay for exactly one minute so as not to accidentally get caught listening.

“I mean, just look at this house,” said Geordi. “It’s got the three of them all over the place. It’s like Spock has barely touched anything of theirs since the doctor passed away. These pictures on the walls are proof alone.”

“Proof of what, Geordi? You have never quite specified what we are here to prove.”

“Soulmates, Data. These three? If they weren’t soulmates, who else in this universe could be? And how will we ever find out if we don’t talk to Spock and learn?”

Spock suppressed an expression of pleasure as he turned and headed towards this own bedroom. He opened the door, eyes scanning the colorful moving holos on the walls of himself, Jim, and Leonard together over the years. In every image their smiles remained eternally happy and youthful. Spock climbed into bed and turned towards the one actual, physical picture he had bothered to have printed and put on his nightstand. He couldn’t make out the images in the dark, but it didn’t matter—he knew the picture by heart. The picture was of the three of them on their wedding day.

“They want to prove the unprovable,” he whispered, two fingers reaching out in a tender vulcan kiss against the glass that held the picture of his husbands and himself. “Should we help them?”

He kept trying to focus on the photo, but found his eyelids growing heavy, and turned onto his back. He sat upright on the edge of the bed for his evening meditation. His head was filled with thoughts of Jim and Leonard. When he finished meditating and decided to sleep, he thought again of Geordi’s quest to prove the existence of soulmates. No matter the effort, his mind couldn’t come up with any kind of answer as he drifted off to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Check notes for my personal sourdough recipe! <3

The next morning, Geordi woke up to a small handwritten note from Mr. Spock on the floor in front of the doorway. It instructed him to meet in the backyard once he was ready, and said nothing else. He only knew it was from the Ambassador because the writing did not look like the Times New Roman font that Data’s did.

Breakfast had been made and was sitting under a heat lamp for him in the kitchen on top of the counter. He noticed a mournful little meow come from around the corner and was astonished to find a longhaired black cat sitting at the floor in the kitchen. Its tail lashed with excitement. It attempted, for what seemed like not the first time, to jump on the counter. As soon as the cat’s body reached the lip of the counter, it crashed against an invisible force. He grinned at the sounds of the cat scrabbling and running away as soon as he made himself known. 

He scarfed down the food, then cleaned and discarded the dishes.

He went looking for a mug, intending to pour a cup of coffee, and found the most prominently displayed mug read “Greetings from Risa” on it in pink calligraphy. He took a moment to giggle at the thought of Mr. Spock and his husbands visiting that planet while pushing seventy. Perhaps it had been a gag gift.

He found several types of coffee creamers—all with the seals unbroken—and settled for a splash of milk and some sugar, which had been put out on the counter and labeled (assumedly) for his use. 

As he approached the backyard, he heard the wild sound of chickens cawing and making a racket. 

When he opened the back door the first thing he saw was the image of Mr Spock, sitting in casual vulcan robes on a patio swing, and the spot next to him was entirely occupied by an old, graying golden retriever that had a face too heart-meltingly sweet to move aside. 

Geordi was jolted back to reality when he once again heard the sound of a hound of chickens losing their collective sanity. 

In the backyard, Data was squatting in the chicken coop being swarmed by chickens to the point only his rear end was visible among the cluster.

“I had no idea androids could be so...amusing,” said Spock. “I told him to feed the chickens but he prefers holding all of the feed in his hands while they attack him.”

“Have you told him you’re supposed to scatter them on the ground?”

“I did,” said Spock, the right side of his mouth curling a little. “He said he prefers to be as close to the animals as possible so as to learn more about them.”

Geordi got a big laugh out of that response. He shook his head and said, “That’s Data for you...he’s a guy that likes to get his hands dirty.”

Spock‘s eyes crinkled at the corners in pleasure as the chickens seemed to calm down. Data stepped out of the chicken coop unscathed and satisfied.

"It seems like you have the Jim Kirk approach to chicken-feeding: enduring literal hen-pecking simply for the up-close personal experience. Leonard yelled at him so much he didn't even stop after he was done healing him. He still healed him every time."

Data‘s head tipped to the side, as it frequently did when he was confused. “Why did Captain Kirk subject himself to such attacks?"

Spock shrugged, then stood, along with the golden retriever next to him. "This is my guide dog, Gracie. As tempting as she is, I ask that you do not touch her. Her job is to monitor my heart and press a medical alert button should something go wrong. She is also fond of barking very loudly when I so much as sneeze.”

“Isn’t that job mostly redundant nowadays?”

“There are some who prefer the bio-implant as well as the charm of an animal. I can suffice without Gracie because of my implant, so I am fine without her. Yesterday was her day off, so to speak.”

"She looks more attentive than a dozen little ensigns put together."

"That is both her greatest strength and her least pleasant habit.”

"Have you considered a different service animal?" asked Data.

"I could never," said Spock. "When I adopted her for help with my heart condition, they informed us she might have trouble adapting without the presence of her mate. Though Gracie passed her courses, she suffered to perform her job. They were going to give them both up for adoption until Jim surprised us and adopted them both. We named the other dog George."

“I have not seen another dog on the premesis," commented Data. "Has George died?"

“He did. Gracie adjusted surprisingly well.” 

"What did Dr. McCoy have to say about the captain adopting two dogs spontaneously?” asked Geordi, amused.

"He specifically said ‘don't look a gift dog in the mouth.’” 

Geordi chuckled. After some silence passed, Geordi asked, “Is there anything you had on the agenda today that we could help with, Mr. Spock?"

"You could clean Jim's favorite mug," he said, dryly. 

Geordi froze, a cold fist gripping his chest in dread.

“That was a joke,” said Spock, almost immediately. Geordi realized then that Spock was wearing what could only be described as a smirk. 

“You...” he gawked, then laughed heartily. “You dirty old man! This is a real souvenir?”

“It seems like you were correct, Mr. Data." said Spock. "Geordi does need to relax a little.”

“If I might remind you, Geordi, we live in a time where erectile dysfunction has been cured.”

“Can we change the subject please?” asked Geordi.

“Alright,” said Spock. “Perhaps today we could do a little baking. Come with me, if you wish," he said, as if Data or Geordi would ever turn an opportunity like that down.

They trailed after Spock and Gracie like ducklings as they went back inside of the house. Spock uncovered a bowl from inside the fridge and said “Is anybody a fan of sourdough? I’ve prepared some leaven.”

“I’m only okay with sourdough if we make five loaves because I will probably eat an entire one myself,” said Geordi. 

“Sourdough for lunch and dinner, then,” said Spock, “I admit it is better than cooking.”

“Mr Spock,” said Geordi, “please, allow us to order food to-go. We don’t want to ask you to make dinner on top of all of this.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “Data? Do me a favor and put about 165 grams of water in a small saucepan and cover it.”

Data began his task, and Geordi looked around, wishing he could help.

As if he’d read his mind, Spock asked if Geordi would mind helping him sanitize the counters. When the water was simmering, Data asked about their next step. Spock came forth with a small measurement of salt and tossed it into the water. “Now, Data, the ratio of salt to water is quite high so try and stir this as it cools off and the salt dissolves. Wait for it to cool down.” 

“Aye, sir,” said Data. 

Spock waved his hand. “You don’t need to say that. Please, I’ve been retired for almost thirty years.”

They moved onto adding flour to their mix and left it covered to sit.

When they sat in the living room to wait the several hours they needed to until the dough needed to be tended to. Each of them took out reading material, and then proceeded to not read it. 

“You know,” said Spock, idly. “Sourdough is a tricky bread. You take naturally created yeast and use that for your starter in every loaf so that the bread can rise without any powdered yeast needed.”

“If I may ask, Mr. Spock,” said Data. “How long have you been caring for this particular starter? I’m aware sourdough starters must be, in a way, ‘fed’ more water and flour every once in a while, depending on the temperature of the environment.”

“The sourdough starter,” said Spock, “was something I started when we first moved in. It’s nearly thirty years old. I’ve been maintaining the same culture of yeast since we arrived here. Saving a dried sourdough starter and passing it down to the next generation is a practice both on Vulcan and on Earth. By feeding the same starter week by week you have to discard half of the volume of the starter so you may feed it fresh flour and water until the culture is active enough to make the bread rise. Even though you discard so much of the starter every week, the yeast culture gets better the longer you care for it."

“So you, Doctor McCoy, and Captain Kirk have maintained the same yeast culture for almost thirty years, then?” said Data. “If the quality improves the longer you maintain a starter, then the one you have must be quite impressive.”

“The routine isn’t really about that,” said Spock. “I like to think of it as more of a way to honor their memory. The starter has been cared for by all three of us since we had this house built. Jim even....named it Dorothy. Some reference to Jim’s favorite movie. They live in this starter as much as they do in Gracie. In our horses and chickens. In our greenhouse.”

Geordi, on the other end of the kitchen, was listening with a wistful smile on his face. He looked away and appeared to scratch his opposite cheek when he turned away.

“Geordi, your breathing rate has changed. Are you alright?”

“Of course!” Geordi threw on a smile for Data’s sake, but Spock saw him wipe a tear from his face when he was turned away.

They spent the night talking while waiting. After letting the dough rise for a couple of hours, they repeated the process: folding the dough over and waited again until they baked their bread. After the bread was baked, Spock and Geordi enjoyed the fruits of their labor and chatted deep into the evening. The crust of the bread was flakey and baked to perfection, the inside soft and tangy...

Spock laid out cheese, vegetables, and fruit picked from his greenhouse. Geordi was surprised again by the quality and flavor of the food Mr. Spock provided. Perhaps there really was something to be said about farm-to-table cuisine.

Data turned in early for bed, and Geordi felt himself becoming increasingly anxious around the retired Ambassador. When Data left, Geordi took a book from Mr. Spock‘s shelf at his recommendation, but only for appearances. What he really wanted to do was strike up a conversation with Spock, but he couldn't find a viable starting topic.

Spock brought Geordi enormous relief when he spoke first: "You seemed to show a lot of...scientific interest in Dorothy."

“Er...who now?”

"The starter. For the sourdough." 

"Oh!" Geordi was beginning to worry that forming a friendship with Mr. Spock would prove to be nothing but a never-ending parade of awkward silences.

“I can dry some out for you so you can take some home, if you like," offered Spock.

“No, it‘s not the starter or anything else. It's the stories." Geordi took a moment to sip the white wine he'd been nursing all evening.

"You came hoping to hear stories, did you not?"

“Oh, I came here to settle a bet with Data, if anything.”

Spock tilted his head not unlike the way Data did when trying to figure something out. "What was the bet?"

"I wanted..." Geordi wrung his hands, a familiar sense of embarrassment warming his chest and collar area. “I wanted to prove to Data that soulmates exist. I’m aware you and Captain Kirk had a t'hy'la bond..."

"Indeed," said Spock. ”That is common knowledge. So...”

“It’s a little white lie,” said Geordi. “The real thing is... Data believes he's incapable of falling in love.”

"Which bothers you...why?" asked Spock. He was looking in Geordi’s direction, but not at him, likely to minimize his chances of intimidating him.

"Because he keeps saying he doesn't have the ability to."

"Some people live whole lives without relating to the term ‘love.’”

"But he also says he doesn't feel emotion, even though he so clearly does! It may not be as obvious to you, but he has this cat who he practically rocks in his arms like a baby. He's created and lost his own daughter. He even—,” he cut himself off as tears stopped up his windpipe. "He was given the option to feel emotions the way humans do. Feeling human emotions is his ultimate goal in life. The only problem with the deal was he would only feel negative emotions. They used me as bait. In the end...he said he could never sacrifice our relationship for anything, even with how much he wanted to feel those things.”

The old man became lost in thought, and was only pulled out of his haze when he heard the sound of the young engineer sniff once. Geordi's embarassment only increased when Spock extended a red silk handkerchief towards him. He looked down at it and noticed the initials L.H.M. on the corner. He wiped his tears with his hands and laughed at himself.

“Sorry, but...this place is too much like a museum. I can’t use a handkerchief previously owned by Dr. Leonard McCoy."

Spock shrugged and took the handkerchief back. He was quiet for only one moment before at last he said: "If l were you, Mr. LaForge, I would focus less on what Data says to you, and more on what he has done. Think about how he has treated you. You dictate a story by what actions are made, not by filler dialogue."

"I will attempt to view things from your perspective,” he said.

"While you are doing so," said Spock, "consider the weight of what Data did for you. What he did was...a beautiful and important sacrifice. It is not one l can personally relate to, but I can come up with only one reason as to why he would do such a thing.”

“What is the reasoning, then?"

"Affection,” said Spock, with the gentlest tone he had ever heard a Vulcan use. “I don't mean to sound self-serving, but consider my own history along with what I have said.” 

"You sacrificed yourself for your ship," said Geordi.

Spock shook his head. “No," he said. “I sacrificed myself for the people I cared for. For Jim. For Leonard. Because of them, my choice to sacrifice myself was far easier.”

“I see,” said Geordi, unsure of how to feel.

“If you’ll excuse me," said Spock, “It is now time for Gracie and I to meditate."

"Good night, Mr. Spock. And Gracie,” he added the last part with a smile.

With that, Geordi figured it was time for him to go to bed and allow his spinning mind to finally slow down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Andy’s Super Sourdough (1 loaf)
> 
> Leaven (cut in half before using)  
> * 1 tablespoon active starter  
> * 1/2 cup flour (170 grams)  
> * 1/3 cup water (71 grams)
> 
> Dough  
> * 1 tablespoon salt  
> * 1 1/4 cups water (312 grams)  
> * 2 3/4 cups flour (400 grams)
> 
> Instructions:
> 
> 1\. Make leaven by dissolving tablespoon of starter in water and then mixing in flour. Rest overnight  
> 2\. Dissolve tablespoon of salt in 1/4 cup (53 grams) water (cut in half when finished)  
> 3\. Cut leaven in half, discard half and dissolve other half in 1 cup (259 grams) of water  
> 4\. Mix in flour  
> 5\. Rest dough (30 min-4 hrs)  
> 6\. Mix salt water into dough, pinching and stretching to get dough to soak it in. If dough is very sticky, drain excess water  
> 7\. Fold dough 6 times, resting 30 min between folds  
> 8\. Rest dough (30-60 min)  
> 9\. Shape dough into loose round  
> 10\. Rest dough in open air (20-30 min)  
> 11\. Prepare proofing basket  
> 12\. Shape loaf  
> 13\. Put dough in proofing basket, let rise (3-4 hours or overnight in fridge)  
> 14\. Heat oven to 500 degrees with Dutch oven covered inside the oven  
> 15\. Transfer to Dutch oven, score top of loaf  
> 16\. Bake 15 min with lid at 500 degrees  
> 17\. Remove lid & reduce temp to 450 degrees, bake another 15 min


	3. Bouquet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Data wakes in the middle of the night to find Spock, alone in the rose garden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra character death warning for this chapter, I suppose. We will be seeing snapshots of the aftermath of the deaths of Jim, Amanda, and Bones :’(

Data approached Spock one night at 4 am. He had finished “dreaming” for the night. He’d had a vague dream about riding a horse, but little else of any substance. 

He had walked around the property at night before, but he’d never happened upon Spock up so late at night. He noticed the Vulcan was not tending to the vegetables and fruits like he did in the very early morning, but in the flower garden under the fairy lights. He sat on a bench in front of a circle of perfectly pruned yellow and red roses. 

Data approached him, entering under the floral arch and walking through the circle of hedges in the center of the garden. He stood from a respectful distance and admired the roses for a long time. Spock stood and approached the rose bushes. Neither of them spoke in greeting, just stood side by side.

“These roses are quite lovely,” said Data.

“Thank you. My husbands planted them together. I never wanted to try my hand with flowers. I find them... too temperamental. Perhaps that is why Leonard did such a good job maintaining this garden.”

“What do you mean by ‘temperamental’?”

“I have managed to create invisible scientific temperature control fields for every plant that grows on this farm, but these roses are problematic. They are all watered on a schedule, and sometimes struggle to bloom. They have been flourishing lately, thus those clippings over there.”

Data saw a pile of red and yellow roses just a couple of hours past their peak bloom on the bench. The stems were cleaned of thorns, while a pile of thorns and leaves lay at the ground along with a pair of clippers.

“If I am not mistaken,” said Data, “roses of different colors represent different things.”

“Flower language,” said Spock, with a little nod.

“I have read on the subject,” said Data. “Red roses represent romantic love. Yellow roses represent friendship.”

“What better colors for a relationship between three people who began as friends and grew into something different?”

“I can think of no colors more appropriate,” said Data. “Did you ever consider changing out these roses for pink ones? Or white ones? Those are both common colors for remembrance and death.

“These roses represent their life, Data, not their death. Plus...it is hard to explain. I have a form of...attachment to these roses. Leonard worked so hard on them. They were his project, while the animals were the Captain’s project.”

“Is your project the vegetable garden?”

“Yes.” 

“I have heard more often than not that Vulcans do not lean towards emotional sentimentality. Though you are half human, I have always heard you tend to follow the Vulcan way of life.”

“Call it an old man’s mind slipping.”

“I do not understand...you identifying your mind ‘slipping’ as you say, proves that your mind is likely fine.”

“Yes.”

Data processed this information for a little while. 

“Data...” said Spock, with the slightest note of hesitancy in his voice. “Are you aware I’m what some might consider a gifted telepath?”

“Yes I am,” he replied. “I did research on you and your late husbands prior to my arrival.”

“I’m aware. If I tried hard enough I could likely mind meld with a common earth mouse,” he said. “I want to ask you a question that’s not exactly considered polite, if you find that agreeable.” 

“You may ask whatever you like: I have no ability to be offended.”

“I simply wanted to prepare you. Data, would you say your brain and technological build is...advanced enough to be considered sophisticated?”

Data’s eyebrows crunched together slightly, in thought. “With all due respect, Mr. Spock...I fail to see the relevance of this topic.”

“If you are open to it,” said Spock, “I could attempt a Vulcan mind meld with you. I can show you exactly why these roses must be kept alive exactly as they are.”

“I am not entirely sure my positronic brain is capable of receiving a Vulcan mind meld.” 

“Have you ever tried?”

“No.”

“Is there potential harm in trying?” 

“No.”

“Then why not try anyway?”

“...I can see no flaw in your logic. You may attempt the mind meld.”

Spock’s lip raised in one corner, pleased. He moved his hands up towards Data’s face, fingers spreading onto certain points that made Data feel like someone had hardwired every point in his brain so his focus was entirely on Spock, on his face and his words.

“My mind to your mind. My thoughts to your thoughts.”

Data noted everything he did in detail until all of a sudden he didn’t see anything at all except blackness 

“Can you hear my voice, Data?”

“Yes,” answered Data. 

“Do not speak out loud. There is no need. Communicate through your thoughts only. Remain focused. What do you see? Look around you. Ask me if you have questions.” 

Data looked around him and noticed he was standing on what seemed to be a spaceship very similar to the Enterprise. No—the sound of the engine hum inside the walls was similar to that of “his” Enterprise, but slightly different. This must have been an older model.

There were people gathered in the formal hall of the Enterprise. There must have been fewer than forty people present. Everyone present regarded each other fondly, or at least pleasantly. The men in the party donned matching yellow and blue striped kippot on their heads. The blue and yellow stripes were wavy, and when he finally got a look at the basket full of kippot he noticed a Star date printed on the inside of the small head coverings. 

“Your anniversary?” Data asked, despite the fact the answer seemed to come to his mind the moment he asked.

“The only wedding that occurred between the three of us. My mother passed shortly after this occasion, so we were glad we were able to give her this.”

The room shifted slightly, and Data found himself sitting in an empty chair amongst the crowd. Captain Hikaru Sulu stood amongst the crowd at the front, wearing a smile and the kippah that had been given to him. 

The strange sensation that had been inside Data’s body since he entered the meld increased. His body felt loose. His lips felt like they laid perched on the edge of a smile. His chest felt like a balloon with its string tied around his stomach to anchor it.

“What is this?” Data asked, his hand finding its way to his torso. “I feel...Mr. Spock, is this happiness?”

“In its highest form.”

It felt like a little tribble sat in his chest, trilling and softening everything else inside of him.

The three men wore their formal uniforms, as did over half the crowd. They stood under a white huppah. The poles that held up the four corners of the structure were shiny and silver. They were each held up by significant people. Amanda and Sarek held the poles in the back, and their friends Uhura and Scotty held the poles in the front. 

The setting around Data changed again, and Kirk, Spock, and McCoy were taking sips of wine from the same glass. Another shift, and he saw the three grooms holding hands as they stepped on an object covered in cloth followed by the sound of shattering glass. He knew instantly what was hidden beneath, not due to his already existing knowledge of Jewish weddings—but because he realized he now knew it intrinsically. Spock’s mind was feeding him information in real time. 

The sound of joy and cheer filled the air. Data could feel it so strongly in his body he felt moved to stand along with everyone else. The “joy” that Spock described reached its peak. Data touched his face and felt his lips were formed in a smile.

Another change, and the three of them were inside their yichud together, spending a comfortable fifteen minutes together to unwind after the ceremony. 

They were standing with their arms out to hold each other with as much might as they had. McCoy was crying quietly, which prodded Jim into doing the same.

“I love you two so much,” whispered Spock, prompting both Kirk and McCoy to pull away and kiss his face in adoration. 

Data was aware humans cried from happiness, but the feeling of it was so foreign to him. It was exhilarating. He felt invincible—a level of happiness he felt he’d carry in his memory forever.

Another shift. McCoy was taking an antacid and conversing with Scotty during the wedding reception.

“Are you getting ready to be lifted? I heard somethin’ about them playing the horah in a moment.”

“Don’t remind me,” said McCoy. “Sarek was just talking about how he hoped to be the one that got to lift me in the chair. Him alone. If I slip and fall ass-first onto my father in law’s face I’ll never live it down.”

“Then why are you doing it? Surely they’d let you bow out?”

“I know,” Bones grumbled. “But they’re so happy. Look at ‘em.”

Data followed their gaze as they saw Kirk and Spock speaking to Amanda and receiving their cheek pats.

“Besides,” said Bones. “Isn’t the point of marriage to take a leap of faith and try new things? Do something out of the box? Saying ‘no’ wouldn’t feel...in the spirit of this next chapter of my life.”

Scotty beamed, his eyes getting a little misty as he raised his glass to his lips. “You really have softened with age, Doctor.”

Another shift. The three of them were being lifted on top of chairs in the center of the room. Kirk and Spock looked surprised yet okay with their situation. McCoy’s smile was put-on and stiff, and his hands clung to the seat of his chair, but he was doing it. And there was a moment where the three of them all exchanged looks and they relaxed and let themselves smile. 

The thought “We did it. We really did it,” came to Data’s mind in Spock’s voice, and he felt like some of his essence was split up in a million small fragments and floating in the air above them like stars.

The scene changed. The three of them were alone on a boat big enough for about half a dozen people. It was late in the afternoon, and when he looked around him he could recognize the far-away sight of the Golden Gate Bridge. The sun was bright, but their boat had a roof to give them shade. Data’s whole body felt strained, aching. His limbs moved slowly. His chest ached with a strange sensation. He tried to name this feeling, and came up only with the term “grief.” He’d never experienced what others described as grief so viscerally before. 

Spock was reciting the Kaddish for mourning. Like before, all of the information Data needed to know was already in his mind. 

The men each held yellow roses in their hands. Data had been too busy processing the new information to notice the prayer had ended. 

“So...Shiva is over,” said Jim. “Anyone have anything to say about Amanda?” 

“I would rather be done with it,” said Spock. “Coming out here no longer seems...logical.”

“Spock,” said McCoy. “You brought us out here during the hottest part of the day. You recited a prayer from memory. We’re holding roses from our garden we just started together which we flew over in some science doohickey thing you made to keep them fresh. We’re all the way in San Francisco. Now you’re telling us we shouldn’t have even come?”

“...Correct.”

“I don’t buy it.”

“Bones...” Kirk warned him. 

“Is there something you really wanted to say, Spock? Something you can’t say around us? Because we can go for a little swim—,”

Spock huffed, his lips quirking upward at the corners. It was as close as he came to a laugh. 

“I know I’ve burdened you all enough. I simply...cannot form the right words.”

Leonard softened. “Do you need someone to say some words for you?”

Spock was silent for a long and tense moment. Kirk took Spock’s hand and squeezed it.

“I think I do,” he said. 

Bones bit his lip and squirmed, fidgeting for a moment with his clothes.

“I don’t remember any prayers myself,” he said. He coughed, uncomfortably. “That being said...I’ll try speaking to Amanda directly.”

He raised his rose in the air and watched until his husbands had raised theirs as well.

“Amanda: you’ve done a wonderful job in your time in this universe. You were the bridge between two of the most stubborn people I’ve ever met. You raised Spock so well. You’ve been standing tall for your son and so many others for so long, and we’re glad you can finally lay down your arms. Jim and I...we’re gonna protect Spock now. We are so thankful for the gifts your presence has given to this world and to those who knew you. Be at peace, Amanda. You were, and will forever be loved.”

In one move he smelled his yellow rose for one last time, then threw it far. Spock and Jim copied what he’d done, and Data’s body filled up with warmth. Spock held his hand out and received McCoy’s hand in his. With his other hand, he reached out two fingers and grazed it against Jim’s palm.

The warmth had turned into a deep, steady sense of safety. It reminded him of the sense of calm and quiet he’s felt during the wedding, only more humble, more sturdy, more...reliable.

The scene changed again.

Spock and the doctor were together in the Georgia farm, but something was different. The living room was filled with boxes and clutter and...something awful. There was a tugging sensation twisting inside Data’s stomach. His throat ached with the effort of keeping his breathing still. His body no longer had energy. Moving his head alone to take in the scene took conscious effort. He felt his body grow heavy, and he had to sit on the edge of the couch.

“Of all the insensitive, cold, heartless responses you could have given, Spock. Of all the things you could have said that alone is the worst possible fucking thing.”

“I am merely saying, Doctor,” said Spock, in a slow, measured tone. “I am going to leave the decision of which items   
belonging to the late Captain we should keep up to you.”

“Jim.”

“Sorry?”

McCoy was shaking, his small frame pulled inward and his light eyes shining with tears. “Call him Jim. You haven’t been able to call him anything except Captain since he died. Say his fucking name.”

The pain twisting in Data’s stomach combined with sour anger, and more pain. 

Bones didn’t know a thing. He had no way of knowing what Spock had been feeling, and he only had a clue that something was wrong because he could see it. Spock had not touched Bones since the funeral. He’d blocked off their mental bond that they had, so his husband had no idea what was going on inside Spock’s mind and only guesses to work off of.

They hadn’t slept together in the same bed since Jim died. This fact sat on his chest like a heavy stone.

“I see no logic in saying his name simply to placate you.”

“You’re afraid you’ll break if you even think about him,” said McCoy. “Admit it. You’re choosing to ignore his very existence to deal with this but it’s not working because he’s all over this damn place. That’s why you’ve been going off in town every day all day doing heaven knows what.”

“I was not in town when I was away on those days.”

“Then where were you?”

“I told you. I have been exercising his horse by trying to find a fresh meditation spot, where I can meditate with a clear perspective.”

McCoy huffed. “By clear perspective do you mean one where Jim doesn’t exist?”

Spock stared at the ground. Data noticed that everything he felt was fading in and out, as Spock’s ability to control his emotions slipped in and out of his grasp. 

The scene changed.

It was later that night. McCoy was sitting on the porch staring at the chicken coop, where their birds were asleep,

Spock stepped onto the porch. Data noticed the feelings he was experiencing were now a desire to be close with someone else, packed under layers of guilt and loneliness. 

Spock stepped onto the porch.

“Do you think Jim’s hens have the capacity to miss him?” Spock did not ask in a condescending manner. He genuinely wanted to know what the doctor thought.

Leonard looked up from his spot on the swinging bench on their back porch. Spock tried not to pay attention as Bones picked apart his expression with his gaze. 

“You came back to indulge me. How kind of you.”

“I was asking a scientific question, Doctor.”

“Yeah but you—,” he sighed, shook his head, and continued. “Fine. I think...maybe they’ll miss his voice. Some aspects about him. But I don’t think they’ll connect that to him being gone.”

“You think they will forget him in due time?”

“The lucky bastards probably will.”

Spock looked down at the spot beside Leonard. Bones noticed his glance and scrutinized him with his eyes.

“You wanna sit next to me?”

“Actually...I’d like to take you somewhere. To the flower garden. I believe I owe you an explanation.”

“No. I should’ve understood more. He was your t’hy’la, I’m sure it hurts more or...differently, or something. Sorry I snapped.”

“Leonard,” said Spock, taking both of his hands in his gingerly. “Come with me.”

After following them on a short walk, Data ended up in the rose garden again.

Spock gestured towards the bench. Data blinked as he noticed a bundle of de-thorned red roses freshly clipped and bound with a perfect blue ribbon. 

“What’s this? Can’t say sorry, gotta do it in flowers?” 

“I wanted to start with the apology but if you’d rather I skip it—,”

“—No...go ahead.”

Bones’s frown softened into a more neutral expression. He picked up the bouquet of red roses and buried his nose in it. 

“Got any cuts?” He asked.

“Of course not,” Spock said.

Data sensed falsehood. So did Mccoy, apparently, because he frowned. 

“Show me your hands.”

Spock let go of a little breath and pulled his hands out of his pockets. His skin had a few small green cuts on it.

“That’s what I thought. Bring em’ here.”

The doctor pulled out a small pen-shaped device and cradled his husband’s palm. He got to work mending the cuts.

Data’s hands felt like things long-frozen finally being thawing out. A feeling he found himself labeling as warmth flooded through his body, and his shoulders relaxed. The pleasure of touching his husband’s hands again for the first time in so many days far outweighed the slight sting of the dermal regenerator. Feelings of love, regret, and vulnerability flowed from Spock’s touch as he cradled his husband’s hands and brought them to his face to kiss the soft skin.

Their hands stayed latched together as they lowered them into their laps and began to relax.

“I am sorry, Leonard. I came off as callous. I did not intend to imply there was no worth in Jim’s old belongings—emotional or otherwise.”

“I know.”

“Please, though, may I provide context? When the three of us bought the peach tree out by the porch and planted it...that was actually an old Vulcan funeral custom. We use cremation, but often after the passing of the person, we sprinkle bits of ash into the dirt we bury the plant in. That plant—usually something sturdy and long-lasting, like a tree or even a cactus—then represents the returning of that person’s body to the earth. I had no ashes to work with, since my mother decided upon a Jewish burial on Earth, but I thought of her the whole time we were planting the peach tree.”

“I thought I sensed something going on with you,” said McCoy. “ You could’ve told me.”

“I do not show my emotions as others do. You know this. You must trust me when I say I grieve Jim with you.”

McCoy scrubbed the corner of his eye. “I can tell. I just...I guess I just wish I wasn’t the only person around here crying all the time.”

Spock nodded in acknowledgment. “I understand. If it will help, I’ve come up with an idea for us to do something together in Jim’s memory.”

“Is it another tree?” asked Bones with a little smile that revealed he already knew the answer.

“Apple,” responded Spock. “I figured we could trade a small harvest from the garden for a sapling. I understand our neighbor has a few extra.”

“Did you contact him?”

He nodded.

“And he responded?” asked Leonard.

“In record time.”

McCoy smiled to himself. “I really like that idea...”

“I am glad.”

Spock hesitated, then held out two fingers as an invite for a kiss. Bones accepted. Data could feel a great sense of relief, warmth, and reconnection in his body flooding through him like hot tea. He felt his hand, arm, and body light up as the doctor swirled his fingertips over Spock’s hand.

He looked up when Spock leaned in to kiss McCoy on the lips, which were just as soft as his fingers. Subtle heat warmed Data’s lips to the touch as Mr. Spock took his husband’s face in his hands and pulled him in closer. The feeling of arms wrapping around him enveloped Data like a blanket and he felt...what was that? He realized after a moment he was feeling love, and affection, surging through his body and lighting up his skin.

“I found something when I was going through the stuff you claimed was of ‘little consequence.’ Here.”

Leonard reached into a bag at his feet and pulled out an old black sweater that once belonged to Jim.

Despite his apparent hesitancy, Spock held the sweater to his chest when his husband gave it to him and murmured, “It still smells like him.” 

“So does everything else. With a little extra effort on our parts we can make it so we always have something of his that reminds us of him.”

Spock closed his eyes. He was wrapped up, intoxicated by the smell of his late t’hy’la. Tears wet his lashes.

“Unfold the sweater,” said McCoy.

Spock did so, and Data felt his lungs freeze in place. A deep brew of love and pain and wistfulness filled Data’s stomach, and he felt the sense of grief and love rise at the same time.

“My stars...where did you find this?”

Spock looked down at a physical picture: an old fashioned snapshot of the three of them together at their wedding. Data looked at the picture at the same time Spock did and remembered so much about that day from the mind meld. He could practically identify the smell of the whiskey they drank that night and hear their friend’s laughter under the pounding music. 

He remembered a feeling of pure love coursing through his body, warm and giving him a noticeable amount of energy.

“You know,” said Spock, after clearing his throat. “I believe if it were not for your presence I might not handle this situation as well as I am. Thank you.”

“Well. Glad I could help.”

“You’ve reminded me there is no logic in grieving for Jim. We should be celebrating his life, as well as the fact that we still have ours.”

“Yeah,” said Bones. “You know, if you ever do need to grieve...I’m here for a reason. We can...talk or something.”

“There is no use in talking,” murmured Spock. “There are no words to properly articulate the magnitude of what we have lost.”

“I have to agree.”

“I am grateful that you are with me still.”

“Same,” McCoy said. 

He lifted his hands and cradled one of Spock’s hands in his fingers. He kissed his fingers, and Spock gave a tiny smile and felt a flush spread upon his cheeks, which Data could also feel. 

The scene changed. 

“You have to know I cannot take any physical part in this.”

“Fine, then. Hire your own people to collect my old bones afterwards.”

McCoy shifted. He was in a wheelchair now, the muscles on the right side of his body and face slightly slack. 

“You do not understand,” he said.

“No, I understand. You don’t want to be responsible for things gettin’ hairy when you get me cremated. I have a card for those services. I wrote it down and put it in the drawer on your side of the bed, ‘kay?”

“Leonard. What you suggest goes against the fifty percent chance you have of surviving this.”

“It’s the third stroke I’ve had, Spock. I’m doing this on my own clock. I gave you the schedule. You don’t need to even administer the drugs for me, What more information could you logically need?”

“A reason why.”

McCoy’s gaze softened. “That’s not a logical need.”

“I am aware,” said Spock. He reached under McCoy’s chin and lifted his face to meet his gaze. “I need to know as your husband.”

“Ah, yes. Emotional reasons.”

“Please, Leonard, do not make light by—,”

“—I wasn’t trying to make fun of you. I genuinely thought you might not want to know the knitty gritty details.”

“Humans can live far longer after strokes now, Leonard. Plus, you are lucky to only need that chair after your third stroke.”

“It’s not the chair,” said Leonard, softly. “I could have lived my whole life in a chair and been fine with it. The problem is, frankly...I’m tired. I’m old, Spock. I don’t have Vulcan strength to keep me from slowing down as much. I’m a doctor, and I know how things go from here: downhill.”

“You are not an old pet, Leonard.”

“Do I not deserve to die like one, though? It always seemed like a very humane way to go to me. Countdown to your last day and savor every moment until. No fuss, like...like how my old man went, you know?”

“I understand the trauma-informed reasoning you have to choose this path, but I cannot...” Spock trailed off. He looked downwards and away from Leonard. “I cannot sit idly by and count down the hours I have left with you. I’ll worry that any time I spend with you is being...wasted. There are not nearly enough days to—,”

“—Spock. You’re overthinking this. You know it. Stop thinking and just...try to spend these last few months letting the concept sink in. It’s natural. It’s humane. And it’s how I want it. If you think your emotions will get in the way...”

“No,” said Spock, snapping back to attention. “I will remain level headed towards the...self inflicted end of your life.”

Leonard picked up his husband’s hand and kissed his knuckles. “You’ll be okay. You always are.” 

Spock watched him, and Data noticed that he looked older than he did in the current state, outside of the mind meld. 

Spock’s features settled into quiet resignation. The scene changed, and suddenly Data was hurled through a tunnel of darkness, through the echoing sound of sobbing and of Spock straining his voice yelling Leonard’s name. 

Data blinked and looked around himself. They were back in the garden, and the both of them were panting at an alarming rate. Data worked through his overheated body and helped Spock to sit down on the nearby bench and catch his breath. 

“I am sorry,” said Spock. “The last part of those memories became...too difficult.”

“It is alright,” said Data. “Do you require any medical attention?”

“No,” said Spock, “but you should watch out. Your breathing rate has highly increased. I assume your breathing is a mechanism for cooling your system, yes?”

“Correct,” said Data, as he waited for his breathing to calm down.

“You already know how the story ends,” said Spock. “Leonard chose his ending. I’m waiting on mine.”

“I understand. Digging up these bushes would feel like...desecration of a burial site” 

“Not only that Data,” said Spock. Data noticed a tear falling from the Vulcan’s eye. “It would hurt. The idea of this farm dying instead of being passed on...the thought of that is worst of all.” 

“You are...looking for someone to bequeath your farm to?” asked Data. 

Spock’s expression leveled out. “Yes. I haven’t informed you of this yet, but...Several of my organs have been...’on their way out’ as Leonard put it, for a while now. I am taking medication, but age catches up to us all. 

“Do you fear what is to come?”

“When I die?” he asked. “Fear of death is...illogical.”

“But do you fear it?” 

“I am curious about it. I’ve touched death before, but I was brought back. I don’t remember the time during which I was technically dead. I suppose whatever death brings will be...quite fascinating.”

Data gave a little smile. “I feel the same about my own end.”

After a small silence passed, Data looked at the roses Spock had been pruning.

“May I use those?” asked Data, pointing to the pile of roses on the bench. “I believe Geordi will enjoy them.”

“Be my guest,” said Spock.

Data took the pile of two dozen red and yellow roses and nodded to Spock. They exchanged wishes for pleasant dreams, despite the fact neither of them planned to go back to bed. 

Before he left, Data turned his eye to Spock once more and said “If you would be so gracious, sir...I would be honored to care for this farm should no one else want it.”

A second tear fell down Spock’s face. “I know you would.”

He blinked, confused by the comment, but not wanting to make him elaborate. 

“Spock”, he said, with hesitation. “It is going to be...okay.”

Spock lifted his gaze to the android and relaxed his lips into a gentle hint of a smile. “Thank you, Data. I believe it will be as well.”

He took his leave, then, not wanting to bother the man any further. He took the roses into the kitchen. He placed them under water and in a vase he found. He placed the roses next to Geordi, who was sleeping soundly. Instead of returning to work on his painting that night, Data decided to curl up next to Geordi, just to be beside him. 

Data remained at Geordi’s side the rest of the night, finding amusement inside his own mind as he went over and dissected almost every single memory he shared with the man at his side.


End file.
